


You'll never know the love I felt

by lunasenzanotte



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Birthday Cake, Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot Twists, Suicidal Thoughts, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 03:52:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15331125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte/pseuds/lunasenzanotte
Summary: It's Andrea's birthday. Paulo bakes him a cake. But not everything is rainbows and butterflies as it may seem...





	You'll never know the love I felt

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the amazing [@prompt_fills](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prompt_fills) who kept me going, brainstormed with me and gave me amazing feedback.

The first time Paulo saw Andrea, it was against a clear blue sky, with the sun creating a strange aura around him. He looked like a saint, and it felt incredibly wrong. Every time Andrea wakes him up now and Paulo sees him against the bedroom window, he gets flashbacks of that moment, and at the same time, it’s the biggest constant in his life now. He feels like the morning he doesn’t wake up to that sight, he’ll know he’s dead.

“Morning.”

Andrea is sitting on the side of the bed, fumbling with his tie as he always does. Paulo has tried to pre-tie it, to avoid Andrea’s usual morning hissy fits, but it doesn’t seem to have helped much. One would think after so much time in his field of work, ties would be a part of the routine, same as answering e-mails and signing documents, but apparently it’s not the case.

“I have to go,” he says once the knot looks somewhat presentable and secure. “Be good here.”

“I’m always good here,” Paulo mumbles sleepily.

“Oh, are you?” Andrea raises his brows, probably remembering all the days he walked in on a mess of a house. Most of the times, Paulo failed to find a plausible excuse.

Luckily, Andrea doesn’t dwell on it this time. “I’ll be back as usual,” he says.

Paulo nods, looking at him through still half-closed eyes. “Have a nice day,” he says. He feels like he functions on autopilot every morning. He has his part of the play memorized.

He listens for Andrea’s steps on the stairs and the double clack of doors, followed by the familiar sound of a key in the lock. Andrea leaves for work early. Usually, Paulo stays in bed for some time. He’s never been a morning person. And he doesn’t really have anywhere to go. An extra hour of sleep doesn’t hurt.

But today, he has a busy day ahead.

He gets up and makes the bed, better now than later, because he hates doing it and Andrea hates him not doing it. Then he follows the light pouring through the gap under the bathroom door, the light that Andrea forgot to switch off, as usual. 

The bathroom still smells like Andrea, a balanced mix of saffron, amber and cardamom, as the hot steam captured the smell inside. Paulo knew Andrea’s cologne before he actually got to know Andrea in person. It always seemed to follow him, but when he turned around, no one was there.

Still functioning on autopilot, Paulo slips the golden band off his finger, then splashes cold water in his face to wake up a little bit, brushes his teeth and tries to get his hair under control. He finds peace in the routine, he likes things he can anticipate.

The kitchen bears no signs of Andrea’s presence, as he’s usually too busy to have breakfast. He always says he buys something on his way to work, but Paulo can’t say he trusts him. He thinks that Andrea navigates through the city by some instincts, as his eyes are constantly focused on the phone screen. There is no way he remembers to have breakfast. It’s pure miracle he manages to get to work every morning without getting hit by a car or falling into some hole.

He brews some coffee to wake up for good, and drinks it leaning against the window. All he can see is a meter of empty space and a grey wall. Whoever built this house must have thought that view from one side was enough. It’s bound to ruin his mood anytime he looks at the stained concrete and leaves blown between the house and the wall throughout the seasons, decaying peacefully in their trap, and yet he does it every day.

When his mood is ruined for good, he puts the cup in the sink and decides to get on with his task of the day, which is baking Andrea a birthday cake.

A year ago, he forgot about Andrea’s birthday, and it was on his plate for a long, long time. He didn’t know Andrea all that well yet, and he’s not good with dates, but he knows better than to let it happen again. Apparently, birthday is more important than Christmas for Andrea. Much to Paulo’s dismay, as it’s more difficult to forget about Christmas.

Paulo has never made cake before, if he doesn’t count the pitiful attempt of making a cake for his mother when he was nine and used a ready-to-use cake base. Even though he was just slapping some frosting and fruit on top of it, after all his handling, the cake looked all but appetizing. His mother was delighted, of course, and even ate a piece to make him happy, but he’s pretty sure the rest of it ended up in the trash bin as soon as she was sure he’d already forgotten about it. Which means that he really needs to step up his game now.

He’s sure that there are some video tutorials on baking a birthday cake, but he would need internet connection for that, and that’s something Andrea doesn’t want in the house. It took him an eternity to even get cable TV. He still uses DVDs and CDs, because words like “downloading” and “torrents” are not in his dictionary. Which is why Paulo is stuck with a cookbook of debatable quality. It does contain a recipe for a cake base and some basic frosting, and claims it to be “customizable to everyone’s liking”, so Paulo hopes he can customize it well enough for Andrea to like it. 

He pulls out all of the ingredients, praying to God that he hasn’t forgotten about anything. Andrea must have suspected what he needed all those things for, even though Paulo desperately tried to distribute them evenly to several shopping lists, but Andrea is good at guessing Paulo’s intentions. Too good for Paulo’s liking.

He spends another twenty minutes trying to figure out the measurements, looking for a bowl that is big enough and wondering what the hell it means to “fold” the batter. The too-long strands of his hair keep falling in his eyes again and he stubbornly keeps blowing them away. He would cut them right away, but Andrea loves them, so they have to stay intact. 

After about two hours of fierce war against the batter and frosting, he finally obtains a substance he can transfer into the cake mold, and the frosting actually looks decently smooth. Paulo puts the cake in the oven and the frosting in the fridge, and crosses himself three times saying a quick prayer in his mind.

He treats himself to a noodle soup while the cake is baking, because he doesn’t have the strength nor time to prepare anything fancier. He hopes that with the cake, a simple dinner will be acceptable, because he’s already exhausted and he’s accomplished nothing yet.  

About an hour later, he pulls the cake out of the oven and sets it on the counter top to cool down. He studies the recipe in the meanwhile, and the instructions telling him he should cut the cake in half horizontally positively scare him again, because how can he with his nonexistent skills cut it evenly, and also what is a “spatula”? 

Just when he’s about to release the cake from the mold, the doorbell rings. Paulo ignores it. He has more important things to do, he tells himself, and goes to retrieve the frosting, or icing, or however they call it. 

Another hour later, the cake looks nowhere near professional, but at least it does have the shape of a cake and it doesn’t taste horrible, based on the scraps and rests of cream left on the spatula - which is just another type of spoon, really, no need to call it that fancy. With candles it would probably look even better, but hiding candles in a shopping list would be impossible, so Paulo gave up on them.

As he goes to return the cookbook to the library, so that he doesn’t give himself away easily, his eyes fall on the framed picture on the shelf. It’s a picture of him and Andrea, a rare one. There aren’t many pictures of them in the house. Andrea hates having pictures taken, so Paulo doesn’t really know why he insisted on this one. There is literally nothing but some trees behind them, no reason to take a picture in that particular moment. Perhaps that is why Paulo feels the urge to pick it up from time to time and look at it, hoping that maybe one day he will see something more in it. Almost like the picture is a key to something. But he sees nothing out of the ordinary now, just Andrea’s reserved smile and his own less-than-enthusiastic expression. The camera was most likely propped on some rock, as the angle is a little bit awkward. It’s strange but although Paulo remembers the day it was taken to the details, he can’t tell how long ago it was. It feels like years, but of course that’s nonsense. This is just the second birthday they celebrate together.

The thought of birthday brings him back to reality. He rushes back to the kitchen to put the cake in the fridge before the frosting melts on it, and start on the dinner so that he can serve it right when Andrea arrives. He spends the next hour cleaning the mess he’s made, as Andrea absolutely hates the kitchen messy. It leaves him barely half an hour to have a shower and change into something not stained by eggs, flour and other substances he isn’t even able to identify anymore.

He throws the pasta in the pot and starts warming up the sauce when he hears the key in the lock. Luckily, Andrea’s itinerary is more accurate than atomic clock. 

Andrea must know that something’s going down, but he plays along. He can act so clueless and unsuspecting that Paulo almost falls for it, like he has so many times, to Andrea’s amusement. He indeed looks amused when Paulo presents him with his creation, wishing him happy birthday in an overly-cheerful tone of voice.

The table is set to the best of his ability, the fancy plates and tablecloth even making the cake look like it’s truly the highlight of the whole dinner. 

At least Andrea looks delighted. “You spent all day in the kitchen, didn’t you?” he asks.

“Yes,” Paulo admits. “I think baking is not a job for me.”

“But why?” Andrea laughs, looking at the cake more closely. “It looks quite lovely.”

Paulo smiles sheepishly. “You think so?”

“Even if it was a total mess, it’s the thought that counts,” Andrea says. “I can’t remember when I last had a birthday cake.”

Paulo just continues smiling, because he doesn’t know what to say to that. “The dinner will be ready in a minute, so…” he says then.

“Oh. Fine. I’ll bring the wine,” Andrea says and heads back to the hallway. 

Paulo serves the pasta and salad and waits. He still can’t get rid of the terrible feeling that he forgot about something. 

Andrea returns with the bottle of wine - not that Paulo knows anything about wine, but this definitely cost a lot of money. Although Andrea probably got it from one of his client. He says he could open a liquor shop with all the presents he gets from them. Paulo hands Andrea the bottle opener and watches him pour the wine in two glasses. They both know that one or the other should probably propose a toast, but nothing comes to their mind, so they simply clink their glasses.

The dinner tastes okay, Andrea even makes jokes, which is unusual for him, but Paulo still can’t shake the bad feeling. 

“Where’s your ring?” Andrea asks suddenly.

Paulo drops the fork and turns his hand to look at his finger, feeling Andrea’s eyes on him.  _ Of course he did forget about something. _

He jumps up and runs to the bathroom, manners be damned. The ring is on the edge of the sink where he always leaves it. He slips it on his finger and returns to the table, his heartbeat slowly returning to normal.

“Here it is,” he says and grins. “Don’t worry, it’s not baked inside the cake. That’s why I took it off.”

Andrea looks more appeased now. “Aware of your clumsiness, aren’t you?” he asks.

“But I don’t break things anymore.”

“True,” Andrea nods. “Good for the house. And for you.”

Paulo smiles and returns to his piece of cake, although after making it for hours, he doesn’t really feel like eating it. “What are your plans for tonight?” he asks. “Got any celebrations planned?”

“No, not really,” Andrea shakes his head and pours himself more wine. “Just a quiet evening.”

“I hope you don’t plan on playing FIFA,” Paulo says. “I’d have to let you win, because it’s your birthday.”

Andrea laughs out loud. “Let me win? I’d destroy you.”

Paulo just smiles. He does let Andrea win, more often than he’d like, just because Andrea is terrible at it, but dealing with him after he loses makes the win more of a loss, actually. He’s a sore loser, and Paulo doesn’t like walking on a minefield.

“No FIFA, but I’d really like a quiet evening,” Andrea says.

Paulo nods. “So you really will spend your birthday in front of the TV.” He realizes too late how disappointed, almost reproachful he sounds.

“You must think I’m an old, grumpy moron,” Andrea says. “Every normal person would go partying, right?”

“You had work,” Paulo mumbles. “And I’m tired as well.”

Andrea smiles and kisses him on the cheek. “We’ll go somewhere, soon. I promise.”

Paulo nods, picking up the dirty dishes to escape the awkwardness of the situation. 

“I’m going to have a quick shower, then we can watch something, okay?” Andrea says.

Paulo nods absent-mindedly and finishes loading the dishwasher. Andrea closes the door to the bathroom behind him and Paulo hears him turn on the shower. He turns around to take the rest of the cake and put it in the fridge. Then he notices Andrea’s phone on the table.

He blinks confusedly. Andrea always leaves his phone upstairs when he comes home.  _ It’s a trap, _ he thinks immediately.  _ Don’t do it. Don’t do it, Paulo. Don’t ruin everything. _

He touches the home button carefully, making sure he doesn’t move the phone. As it lights up, he almost jumps back. The password protection comes up. As he thought.

It’s enough of a warning. He doesn’t have time to try and guess Andrea’s password. And if he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t really know what he would do if he got past it. He stands there until the screen goes dark again. Then he grabs the cake resolutely, covers it with a plastic bag and puts it in the fridge. 

When he closes the door, Andrea is standing right in front of him. Paulo thanks God for stopping him in the right moment.

“Ready?” Andrea smiles. 

“Just the wine…” Paulo mumbles.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll pour us the rest, it wouldn’t be good tomorrow anyway,” Andrea says, casually taking the phone and slipping it in his pocket. Paulo starts breathing again. “Wait for me in the living room.”

Paulo nods and goes to the living room, switching on the lamp in the corner so that Andrea doesn’t trip over anything on his way. Cleaning red wine off the carpet doesn’t sound like a good way to celebrate.

Andrea put the two glasses on the table, then plops on the sofa next to him and offers him the remote. “You choose.”

“Really?” Paulo looks at him questioningly. 

“Why are you acting so surprised?” Andrea chuckles and pulls him closer.

“I  thought  only you had the right to the remote control.” It’s always what Andrea wants on TV, and he usually wants football, so Paulo hasn’t seen anything else for a really long time. Except one time when Andrea fell asleep before the match ended, so Paulo got to watch a bit of car racing that followed on the channel.

“That’s true,” Andrea nods and places a kiss in Paulo’s hair. “But you treated me so well today, I have to pay you back with something.” He places the remote control in Paulo’s hand. “Go ahead.”

Paulo switches the TV on and starts flipping through the channels. He skips the sports gleefully. He stops briefly on the channel with the news, but catches Andrea’s warning look and quickly presses the button again. He ends up choosing some crime story he’s never heard of, but it’s just starting and he thinks why not, it’s better than football.

Although Andrea comments on everything that happens on the screen the same way he does when football is on.

Halfway through the movie, Paulo catches himself zoning out. He hates when it happens to him, but he can rarely help it. The detectives on the screen are just discussing the possibility of the murder actually being a suicide, and Andrea laughs at them for being that stupid.  _ What would you do, _ Paulo thinks suddenly,  _ if I killed myself here while you’re at work? The possibilities are endless. I could hang myself on one of your ties. Cut my veins with your razor. Overdose on your sleeping pills. Have you ever considered it?  _

It takes him a while to realize that he’s crying, actually he doesn’t notice until Andrea does.

“What’s wrong?” Andrea asks, and there’s concern and slight amusement in his voice at the same time. He’s the only person Paulo knows that can pull this off.

“Nothing,” he mumbles.

And indeed, nothing is really wrong, nothing out of the ordinary, just the long day finally takes a toll on him. He doesn’t know where the thoughts came from. He’s never had these, never contemplated this. He wipes the tears off furiously.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” Andrea asks. 

And the truth is that he is tired, he’s tired to his bones, and he finally feels it.

“Could I wish for a better husband?” Andrea sighs and pulls a blanket over him, and suddenly Paulo feels safe and warm for the first time in years. And the feeling of safety scares him so much that it completely paralyzes him.

Because Andrea isn’t his husband. This isn’t his home. 

But Paulo doesn’t correct him. Because he remembers the last time he did, and it hurt a lot. 

Because you don’t argue with your captor, never, that’s rule number one if you want to live.

Because Andrea has his ways of teaching him things. He’s taught him not to make a sound when the doorbell rang, and then even when his colleagues came to discuss some business. He’s taught him not to flinch when Andrea touched him, and then to smile whenever he did. He could teach him anything with the help of some duct tape, rope and  _ look what you’ve made me do _ .

Andrea maybe thinks he doesn’t remember. Sometimes Paulo feels like Andrea himself doesn’t remember, he acts like the beginnings never happened, or maybe they happened differently in his head. Maybe in his head, they’ve known each other for years and met at some party, and Paulo fell in love with him and moved in with him and never wanted anything else than to stay. But in real life, when he found himself in this place, he had no idea who Andrea was, he had never seen him before, and he definitely didn’t want to stay; he fought nails and teeth. At least he remembers he did, and he hopes that those memories are real. 

But those were the beginnings, and what happened next, he could never really comprehend. Sometimes he’s tempted to ask Andrea about it, just so that he could hear his version, his illusion, his fake memory. Because all he remembers is that Andrea treated him like he would a delirious child. Paulo desperately needed Andrea to hit him, to do something, anything that would reignite the hatred in him, because it was what kept him going. But Andrea just held him, looking down at him. And something broke inside of Paulo.

Something, or maybe everything.

Because Andrea didn’t take all from him. Paulo let him take it, step by step. He didn’t bargain with Andrea as much as he bargained with himself. Because what was Andrea touching him compared to the pain, and what was staying locked in a room without making a sound compared to the pain, and in the end even sex with Andrea wasn’t that bad compared to the other alternatives. And then he started to persuade himself that he wasn’t giving up, that he was just preparing to escape.

Even today, he tells himself that he did all of this because he had hoped he’d make Andrea’s mood good enough to actually take him out. He did take him out of the house a few times. Paulo never did anything. Never tried to escape. The first time he was too terrified, and Andrea took him to the middle of nowhere. He could catch him there easily. The second time they were even around people, but Paulo didn’t do anything because he wasn’t sure if Andrea didn’t have a gun or something. And the third time, Paulo didn’t do anything, told himself if he didn’t try anything, he could convince Andrea he didn’t want to escape, and Andrea would relax more the next time.  _ You wouldn’t do anything even today _ , a small voice tells him.  _ You will never do anything. _

“Let’s get you in bed,” Andrea says, switching off the TV.

And he realizes that this voice in his head is right. He’s been lying to himself all the time. He let Andrea pull him into this sick game, and now he doesn’t know how to get out. He knows that tomorrow morning he’ll wake up to the sight of Andrea against the bedroom window, fumbling with a tie, and it doesn’t scare him as much as it should.  


End file.
